


The Escape from the Dark Forest

by SunflowerSupreme



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aphrodisiacs, Castration, Child Abuse, Gen, LACE non compliant, Parent/Child Incest, Torture, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-09-25 23:04:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20379601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Aredhel’s death comes much sooner, and Maeglin's world crumbles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who shouldn't start another story? THIS BITCH.
> 
> Guess who's starting another story? THIS BITCH.
> 
> Also, I totally stole the title from Escape from Witch Mountain and now I want to rewatch all the Space Mountain movies. Fight me.

Maeglin watched as his mother’s blood pooled on the floor.

Eol stood by impassively, calmly wiping the blade he had used to slit her throat, then tucking it back into the sheath on his belt. “Unfortunate,” he said gruffly.

Then his dark eyes moved to his son.

“Father-”

“No.” Eol stepped forward, his eyes cold as he cornered Maeglin. “You have lost the right to call me that.”

Maeglin bowed his head, focusing on his mother’s blood as it crusted on his own shoes. Had he been that close to her? He couldn’t remember.

“You will call me _my lord_ or _master Eol_. Anything else and I will beat you. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” Maeglin whispered.

There were rungs in the wall where they tied horses to tack or groom them, and Eol found a chain from somewhere and twisted it around Maeglin’s waist, then attached it to one of them. “You will spend the day with the body of the woman,” he said. “Tomorrow you will dig her a grave, and if I am pleased, I will not bury you alive with her.”

Then Eol strode from the room, leaving Maeglin with his mother’s cooling corpse. No doubt Eol was retiring to bed since he and his people preferred to sleep in the day.

Maeglin looked back at his mother's body, cooling on the stable floor. He knew he should cry. He should weep and scream.

But the tears did not come. 

Instead, Maeglin stared at his mother’s body numbly, as though she were a stranger to him. It was well past noon by the time he moved, creeping forward to run his hand through her dark curls. They had been so close to freedom, but Eol had home sooner than expected, found them in the stables, and murdered her. 

“_Ammie_?” It was her tongue, the one from her homeland that she had been forbidden to use. Aredhel didn’t move. He grabbed one of the thin braids that ran through her hair and used the rough edge of his shackles to saw it off, then he tucked it into his shirt. “_You’ll be with me forever_,” he whispered in stunted Quenya, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Maeglin ran his hand over her head, then lowered his face to her chest, sobbing into her ruined dress.

By the time Eol came for him, as the sun was beginning to set, he was stained by his mother’s blood. But his father didn’t take any pity on him, throwing Maeglin a shovel and ordering him outside to dig a grave.

When the hole was finished, Maeglin stepped back.

“Put her in.”

He gathered his mother’s body carefully, then carried her to the grave, laying her inside, brushing hair back from her face reverently. It still didn’t feel real. She couldn’t be dead.

Maeglin fought back tears, and tried to crawl from the grave, but stopped when Anguirel was suddenly pressed against his throat.

“My lord?”

“Lie down with her.”

Maeglin did as he was told, stretching out in the grave beside his mother. So that was it. Eol was going to bury him alive. He grabbed his mother’s hand and squeezed it, but her fingers had gone stiff hours before.

“You were a mistake," Eol said cooly, staring down the blade at him. "I should have known better than to mingle with a Noldo. Or perhaps I should have killed you when you lay in the cradle. Your mother was a fun lay, but I should never have allowed her to quicken with child.”

Maeglin said nothing, resting his head on his mother’s chest and willing for Eol to just run him through and end it. _We will be together soon_, he promised her.

“But I will let you live if you promise me to never have children of your own.”

_Grandchildren? _Of all the things Eol could be considered about, he wanted to ensure Maeglin never gave him grandchildren? He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. But instead, he lay still and considered his options. Dying would mean he could be with his mother again. But living? Living would mean having the chance to make his father suffer.

“I accept.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one rape scene in this story. It’s almost a full chapter, and I will mark it plainly. (it's chapter 3)
> 
> There is also, as the tags imply, a scene where a character is forcibly castrated. That’s chapter 2.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Castration

After Eol pulled him from the grave he forced him to fill it back in, then he led Maeglin, still sweaty and exhausted from digging, into the forge.

They had cleared a space in the center of the room, leaving only a small stool, and it was there that Maeglin was directed to sit. Eol’s apprentices hovered around them, not making a move to defend the young smith as the man he had once called father loomed over him. Their loyalty was to his father, and if they could stand by while Eol abused his mother, Maeglin had no hope for them to defend him.

“Tell me, Maeglin,” Eol said. “When do the Avari cut their hair?”

“Never, my lord.”

“What are the exceptions?”

“Servants and slaves, my lord.”

Eol nodded, pleased by his answer. Then he handed Maeglin a pair of scissors. “Cut it.”

Maeglin swallowed a protest, taking the scissors and lifting them to his hair. Unable to see himself, he cut blindly, and he didn’t need the snickering of the apprentices to know he had done a horrible job.

When he finished, he looked up at Eol and offered him the scissors.

“Shorter,” was all the man said.

So Maeglin squared his shoulders, determined not to show shame, and cut another inch from his hair.

But still Eol said, “Shorter.”

He repeated the command again and again until Maeglin’s hair was no longer than his chin. Then, when offered the scissors, he took them.

“Bring me a razor.”

“No!” Maeglin stood, a wave of panic rushing through him. It was one thing to cut his hair, he would rather be a servant than Eol’s son, but he was not going to willingly let them shave him.

But Eol only motioned for two of his apprentices to hold Maeglin still as he shaved him.

Handfuls of hair fell to the ground, and Maeglin allowed himself to weep as his dark locks fell away.

“You are nothing,” Eol told him when he was finished, stepping back. “You will no longer join us in the forge. You will be with the servants until your death or the undoig of the world, whichever comes first.”

“Yes, my lord,” Maeglin whispered, lowering his head.

But they were not done.

Eol stepped back, glaring at his son. “You promised me you would sire no children.”

“I meant that, my lord.”

“I intend to ensure it.” Eol nodded to someone, and two of the apprentices again stepped forward and held him down.

Maeglin stilled, lifting his head nervously. The two holding him drug him back to a table, forcing him on top of it and then dragging down his pants. He didn’t know what they were planning, but he knew he didn’t like it.

“Give him something to drink.”

His head was forced back, and something poured into his throat. They held his mouth shut and pinched his nose until he swallowed, and almost immediately he felt the drug taking effect. Maeglin’s limps grew weak, but his mind remained sharp, and he fell back to the table and couldn’t fight as they pulled his legs apart.

“You are an embarrassment to my blood,” Eol told him, stepping forward with a knife in his hands. “Any child produced by you would only sully that further.”

Maeglin couldn’t move as the knife separated his testicles from his body, even as pain ravaged him. He wanted to scream, to grab at his genitals, to cover himself, to do _anything_.

But he couldn’t, so he laid limply on his back, burning with pain, fear, and embarrassment, as Eol threw his testicles into the fire.

"You are nothing. I strip your name from you, along with your heritage." Eol loomed over the battered elf. "Neth, we will call you," he said after some deliberation. 

Then he lifted a poker and cauterized the wounds.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter trigger warning: rape

The days after his mutilation passed in a blur. He’d been taken somewhere, his wounds were bandaged, and then he was left alone to lay in the darkness, still immobile.

As motion gradually returned to his body, Maeglin struggled, finally bringing his hand down to feel between his legs. A cotton pad covered him, but he still felt ill, and rolled over, vomiting off the side of the bed.

Then he fainted.

For several days, all he registered was pain, and by the time he was strong enough to stand again, he didn’t recognize himself in the mirror.

There was one in the servant’s bathroom, and Maeglin locked the door, then stripped. The creature that stared back at him didn’t even appear to be elven.

His head was still bare, although there was the beginning of black fuzz where it was attempting to grow back in. Each of his ribs was clearly visible, and he had no doubt that his spine was similarly poking through his back.

But the worst was yet to come.

Maeglin swallowed slowly, then lifted one foot to place it on the counter, letting his privates reflect in the mirror. All that was left of his testicles were smooth scars where his father had burned him.

No. Not his father. Eol. A monster.

And he was not Maeglin, he was reminded as someone sharply knocked on the door. “Neth!” called a voice. “Come out!”

Maeglin squared his shoulders and stormed from the room. He would be Maeglin, he would call himself that, just to spite his father.

His hair grew back, slowly, and thankfully Eol did not force him to shave it again, although it remained above his collarbone. His, testicles, however, remained gone.

Every evening he woke with the rest of the servants, and he worked beside them until past dawn. He got no preferential treatment for being a former lord, in fact, they seemed to treat him worse because of it.

And at every opportunity, they called him “Neth” as if saying it made it true.

“If I were a girl,” he told the head cook one day. “I would bear as many children as possible, just to spite Lord Eol.”

They beat him for that, and he slept in the pig stye that night. But it had been worth it.

He saw very little of Eol over the months that passed, although flowers occasionally appeared on his mother’s grave, he couldn’t fathom that Eol had been the one to put them there. It had to have been someone else, one of the servants who had pitied her.

Every chance he got he sat by his mother’s grave, some nights when the weather was pleasant he even slept there, curling on top of the soft earth.

But for the most part, his life as Neth was never-ending torture, one that he could not wait to escape from.

As if Eol expected him to try to run, he was watched almost constantly. And he could never get close enough to the stables to attempt an escape. So every morning he twisted his mother’s braid around his hand, kissed it, and then hid it in his shirt again.

_I will take you to Gondolin_, he promised it. _I will return you to your home._ But he couldn’t find a way to escape.

Months after her death, Eol finally acknowledged his existence, sending a servant to fetch him. Maeglin followed them without hesitation. He wasn’t afraid of his father, he told himself. What else could Eol do to him?

When he arrived, Eol’s breath stank of alcohol.

Maeglin recoiled, but the dark elf pulled him closer, dragging him by his shirt. “You look like her,” he whispered. “Like my Noldo wife.”

“She was my mother.”

“No.” Eol pressed a finger to Maeglin’s mouth. “Not tonight. Tonight you are her.”

Maeglin didn’t know what to do as he was led into his father’s room. Eol handed him one of his mother’s gowns, then said, “I will return in five minutes.”

Hesitantly he lifted the dress. It was a looser one, and, given that Maeglin had never gained back all the weight he had lost, it would most likely fit him.

His stomach still rolled at the thought of wearing it.

Slowly he slipped out of his clothes, tucking them safely into a corner, hiding his mother’s braid in them. Then he dressed in the white gown.

He barely had time to tie the laces before the door swung open and Eol reentered, his eyes landing on Maeglin with a strange hunger.

Eol walked straight to Maeglin, and sharply pulled him closer, pressing their lips together, but that wasn’t what Maeglin noticed.

His father was hard against him.

He tried to pull back, but Eol was larger and stronger, and he pulled Maeglin into his lap, pulling them into bed. “I have tied you before, my flower,” he said, pressing a line of kisses up Maeglin’s neck. “I can do it again.”

Maeglin cursed at himself as his father’s intentions became more clear. He should have known there was more to this than just wearing his mother’s dress, but he couldn’t have seen this coming, could he have? Should he have?

He’d never been with anyone himself, but he’d seen it, he’d even been invited to join a pair of apprentices he’d caught fucking behind the stable once.

But thinking about his parents' bedrooms activities was far from what he wanted, even more so when it was clear Maeglin was going to be pulled into it.

Eol rolled on top of him, continuing to press kisses down his neck, and for a moment he dared to think it wouldn’t be that bad.

Then his father bit him.

He tried not to cry out, biting his lip instead, but Eol must have heard him, because he murmured, “Shhh, my Noldo.” Eol returned to the spot he had bitten, sucking on it until Maeglin whimpered and tried to pull away.

Abandoning the bite, his long fingers moved to the hem of Aredhel’s dress, pulling it up to Maeglin’s waist. It seemed foolish, but Maeglin sent up a prayer that Eol only wanted to laugh at his deformity.

But apparently the Valar weren’t listening. Or perhaps, they took hated Maeglin, because Eol pushed his legs apart, positioning himself between them without a word.

Maeglin knew enough about sex to know that it was very different between two men than when it was a man and a woman. “Wait-”

But Eol shoved a handful of cloth in his mouth.

Something pressed against his anus, and Maeglin stilled. He struggled to remember what the apprentices had told him, something about stretching and oil?

But Eol offered neither.

Maeglin screamed around the cloth in his mouth, and Eol’s only response was to snarl, “Quiet woman. Or I’ll let my dogs fuck you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, and tried not to wonder if Eol had ever truly let his dogs abuse Aredhel. Instead, he thought about the pain between his legs. For a moment, he was certain nothing could hurt more than he did, but then Eol started moving.

Every thrust felt as though he was being ripped open anew, but he bit his lip, tearing it to shreds, and squeezed his eyes shut.

He tried to think of other things, of something pleasant, but he couldn’t rip his mind away from the pain.

Although he was certain it had only lasted a few minutes, it felt like hours until Eol finally finished, pressing into him with one last groan before releasing.

Tears dripped down Maeglin’s cheeks.

Eol passed out.

For far too long, Maeglin laid on his back, still in his mother’s ruined dress, still stained by blood and his father’s seed. Then he squared his shoulders, pushed himself up, and tied his father to the bed.

Thankfully, Eol slept through it.

Maeglin cleaned himself off and changed back into his clothes, tucking his mother’s braid back into his shirt, then, out of spite, grabbed his father’s most prized possesion: Anguirel. Eol kept the blade in his room, and Maeglin gripped it tightly in his hand as he strode from the room, not hesitating to use it to threaten anyone he passed.

Any servant he saw tied up, not wanting to risk them freeing Eol, and by the time he reached the stable, he was alone in the yard.

He saddled a horse as quickly and quietly as he could.

Since he knew mounting would be painful, he took a moment to prepare himself, taking several deep breaths. But he still couldn’t muster the courage to do it. Finally he grabbed a handful of towels from the tack room and prayed they were clean, then he folded one and slid it into his pants.

When he mounted, he was glad he did. Pain ripped through him, and he was certain he was bleeding again.

But he wouldn’t let that deter him, and he hurried his mount out of the stable, kicking it into a gallop and leaving Nan Elmoth behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

He knew where Gondolin was, or at least, he could point to it on a map. His mother had made sure of that. So although he didn’t know where the entrance was and had no concrete plan of how he was going to get in, he ran toward it. 

The days of riding were incredibly painful, and at times Maeglin just wanted to give up, but fear of Eol kept him moving. He had no doubt his father would follow him, eventually, and if he caught him, then what?

Would he take his penis as well? Rape him again? If he had intended to kill Maeglin, he would have done that months ago. 

Maeglin tried not to think of it as he raced toward the mountains that protected Gondolin.

He rode until he reached the encircling mountains, then slid from his horse, standing at the base of the mountains and looking up. They towered above him, as though they were jagged stones that had been dropped straight down into the earth. He had no doubt he wouldn't be able to climb them, not before Eol caught him at least, but he couldn't begin to guess where the entrance was.

The mountains all looked the same to him.

He pulled Aredhel’s braid from his pocket, holding it up as though she might offer him some guidance or a way home.

But no such luck came.

He spent the day riding around the edge of the mountains, looking for anything that appeared to be out of the usual or that might hint to a hidden entrance, but nothing stood out to him.

Instead, Maeglin made a camp by a river, washing himself as best he could, then eating what berries he could find, as he had for the duration of his journey. He had long since decided that first thing he would do when he got to Gondolin, was eat.

Eventually, he drifted off to sleep, tucked against a rock.

When he awoke there was a knife on his throat. For a horrifying moment, Maeglin was certain that his father had found him and he was going to be taken back to Nan Elmoth. 

But the elf was decidedly not his father. He was taller than Eol by far, in fact, he was the tallest Elf Maeglin had ever seen. And his hair was light, a stark contrast to Eol and Maeglin’s dark hair. 

Behind the elf was a group of soldiers, and they all had their weapons drawn, pointed toward Maeglin.

“Are you from Gondolin?” Maeglin asked. 

“Who are you?” his captor demanded. "Why were you searching for the entrance?" 

They must have seen him searching near the mountains. He must have been close to the entrance after all. But he didn't have time to congratulate himself, not while there was a knife on his throat. “I’m searching for my uncle.” Suddenly his plan seemed foolish. Was he just going to march up to a city full of people who had never met him and inform them that he was their king’s long lost nephew? What would they say when they learned of his mother's death? Would they blame him?

“That does not answer my question.” The knife pressed closer, almost cutting the skin. Maeglin tried to lean back, but all he could do was shove himself deeper into the dirt. 

“Maeglin Lomion,” he said, exactly as his mother had taught him. _In Quenya, you speak your father-name first, and your mother-name second_. It didn't matter that his names were in two different languages. He swallowed, then attempted, “Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo.” Immediately he could tell he’d said it wrong. 

His captor stepped back, almost seeming amused by Maeglin’s clumsy Quenya. “What does an Avari want with the Hidden City of the Noldor?” he asked, an eyebrow raised. They clearly didn't think he was a threat, not if he was that bad at lying, and the elves relaxed their grip on their weapons. 

“My mother lived here,” Maeglin said weakly, bringing his hand up to rub at his throat. “Many years ago. She told me to come here.”

The elves all went very still. “Who is your mother?” asked their leader sharply.

“Aredhel Ar-Feiniel,” he replied. “My father was Eol, a servant of Thingol-”

“We’ve heard of him,” his captor said gruffly. Clearly, Maeglin was not the only one who disliked Eol. “Where is your mother?”

“Eol killed her when we attempted to flee.”

The soldiers shifted nervously, almost seeming to back away, as though they were afraid of Maeglin. _Of course_, he thought bitterly, _they think I am as much a monster as my father_. 

Their leader seemed to debate for a very long time, but finally, he turned to the men behind him. “Bring him into the city. Call the other lords. I wish to know if his claim is valid before we call the king.”

* * *

Maeglin openly gaped as they entered the city.

He had never seen anything like Gondolin, and even his mother’s descriptions of it paled in comparison. Out of habit, he reached into his shirt to ensure his mother’s braid was still safe.

He had no idea where he was taken, but the man who had found him introduced himself as Penlod, then sent runners into the city to find the other lords. They took him to what he could only assume was Penlod’s house, and tied him to a chair in a large room.

Penlod paced in front of him, but Maeglin made no attempt to speak, too afraid. _I should never have come here. I should have gone to her cousins. _Himlad would have been closer than Goldolin, and he suspected the Sons of Feanor wouldn’t have been as paranoid. At any rate, it would have been a bit easier to get into their city. 

At least, he told himself that as he sat berating himself.

The first of the lords to arrive was even more imposing than Penlod, and Maeglin wondered if he always carried a spear, or if he had just brought it to their meeting. Either way, the Avari tried not to look at him.

Since the next elf to arrive, a small, dark-haired man, had a bow across his shoulders, Maeglin was forced to assume they’d brought the weapons because of him.

But the third elf was not armed, although he glittered more brightly than anyone Maeglin had ever seen, dressed from head to toe in gold, with hair of the same color. He headed straight for Maeglin, brushing off Penlod as the man attempted to draw him into conversation with the others.

When he spoke, it was in strangely accented Sindarin. “There’s no need for you to be tied up,” he grumbled, gently pulling at the ropes on Maeglin’s wrists. He glanced up and down Maeglin, then turned, shouting something at Penlod in Quenya. The golden elf watched until Penlod walked from the room, no doubt to do whatever he had asked. “Even if you are lying,” he said brightly, “I thought you might like something to eat.”

“Thank you,” Maeglin said in surprise, wrapping his arms around himself and drawing his feet into the chair, hugging his knees. “Are you Lord Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel smiled, although it didn't seem to reach his eyes. “Your mother told you about us?”

“When father wasn’t around.”

Glorfindel glanced at what the two behind him were doing, then dropped his voice. “I’ve sent for your uncle.” Relief flooded Maeglin. At least someone believed him. And if his mother’s stories about the golden elf were true, Glorfindel wouldn’t let any harm come to him, even if Turgon himself doubted Maeglin’s story.

Before he could reply and thank the lord, Penlod returned, another dark-haired Noldo with him. “Ecthelion!” Glorfindel called, waving him over.

The flutist took the tray of food Penlod had gotten and brought it with him, handing it to Maeglin with a smile. He murmured something to Glorfindel in Quenya, and the golden elf scowled.

Maeglin ignored them, too busy eating.


	5. Chapter 5

Glorfindel pointed everyone out, naming them as they arrived. The first elf, the one with the spear, was Galdor. The man with the bow was Duilin. Glorfindel seemed unbothered by their weapons, saying, “Don’t mind them, according to Penlod’s messenger we were in imminent danger.”

“He’s a good man,” Ecthelion supplied. He spoke slowly in a quiet voice that had a certain, dreamy quality to it that Maeglin thought he could listen to forever. “But paranoid.”

Neither of them seemed to be fully comfortable with Sindarin, but they seemed to understand without asking that Maeglin couldn’t speak enough Quenya to hold a conversation, and he was grateful for that.

Egalmoth arrived next, and he barely acknowledged Maeglin, falling into discussion with Penlod and the other lords.

When Rog arrived, Maeglin knew him immediately. “Mother told me about him,” he explained to a bemused Glorfindel. “She said I would like him.” But Rog barely spared Maeglin a glance, and he wondered anxiously if he would be welcomed in the elf’s forge.

Last to arrive was Salgant. Glorfindel smiled when he approached, but it seemed strained somehow. _Annoyed_.

Ecthelion didn’t even try to hide his disgust, wrinkling his nose as though he had smelled something particularly unpleasant.

He was the oddest elf Maeglin had ever seen - he looked more like a dwarf, if he was honest - short and fat, huffing as he hurried toward them. “It is ever so wonderful to meet you,” he said, bowing as though they weren’t holding a meeting to determine if Maeglin was a liar or not.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to like the man.

But since they had all arrived, Penlod took it upon himself to call the strange meeting to order. “Don’t fret,” Glorfindel murmured. “Ecthelion said your uncle is not in the Tower of the King, but we will find him.”

Maeglin found that he wasn’t afraid.

Instead, he was numb.

He couldn’t blame Penlod for his paranoia. But even then, with everything Maeglin had been through, he found the whole thing to just be an inconvenience. His mother had trusted Glorfindel. He would have to do the same.

Maeglin sat perfectly still as the lords argued around him. They spoke in Quenya, and, although Glorfindel offered him occasional translations, he was usually too busy shouting to do much of anything.

They rarely even looked at Maeglin, not wanting to hear what he had to say on anything, even though the entire meeting was on his account.

Eventually, it became clear that most of the argument was between Glorfindel and Penlod, both of them angry and red-faced.

“Penlod has not forgiven Glorfindel for losing your mother,” Ecthelion explained, looking almost bored with the whole affair. He had turned his chair around backward and was straddling it while resting his arms on the back. “For his part, neither has Glorfindel.”

“What about the others?” Maeglin asked.

Echethelion offered a shrug. “It won’t matter once your uncle gets here,” he promised. Seeming to sense his unease, he listed them anyway, “Salgant seems to like you, though I cannot say why, and I cannot say I like it. Egalmoth will trust Glorfindel. I believe Rog is upset to be pulled from his forge and hasn’t seemed to have bothered forming any opinion. Duilin and Galdor will both follow Penlod, just out of spite.”

“What about you?”

“I find this to be rather amusing.” He smiled, looking sideways at Maeglin. “If Glorfindel punches Penlod, I will do my best to keep you out of harm’s way when the fight starts.”

Maeglin paled. “You think they are going to fight?” he asked weakly.

“No. But I almost wish they would. It would make for a very entertaining ballad.”

The door opened, and a regal-looking elf stood in the doorway. Maeglin lifted his head, meeting the man’s eyes. Aredhel’s eyes. For a moment, he had to remind himself that his mother had died, even if the man in the doorway looked just like her.

He wanted to weep. It had to be Turgon.

But after only a moment, the man looked away, his eyes scanning over the lords who surrounded Maeglin. Then they came to rest on Penlod and they spoke harshly in Quenya.

“He’s angry with Penlod for not summoning him,” Ecthelion translated. “Penlod is still insisting that you might be a fraud and that he was trying to protect the king.”

Turgon finally pulled away from Penlod, and his eyes came to rest on Maeglin. Suddenly he was aware of how very filthy he was. He hadn’t even tried to make himself look presentable.

The King of Goldolin started toward him across the room.

Fear coursed through Maeglin. What if Turgon didn’t believe him? Would they kill him? Torture him? He knew they wouldn’t just throw him from the city, not when he knew where it was. Jail then? Enslavement?

An unwelcome thought entered his mind. Turgon’s wife, he recalled, had died. Would Turgon demand of him what Eol had? There would be no escaping from the King of Gondolin, not with all his lords prepared to do his bidding, even if it meant holding Maeglin down.

_No_, he told himself sternly. Turgon was not that kind of man. Aredhel had always described her brother as kind. He glanced to Glorfindel, and the golden elf winked.

_I am safe_, he reminded himself, feeling guilty for his fears.

Turgon reached him and Maeglin tilted his head up, risking meeting his eyes.

Pity was reflected there.

“Is it true?” he asked quietly, his Sindarin oddly clunky.

“Aredhel Ar-Finel is my mother. She was killed by my father, Eol the Dark.”

Turgon stepped back, swallowing. For a long moment, it almost looked as though he might cry, and if he did, Maeglin wasn’t sure how to react. But finally, he took a deep breath and said, “Let the boy go, Penlod.”

Maeglin reached into his pocket and pulled out the braid he had taken from his mother’s corpse. Turgon reached for it instinctively, then seemed to realize what it was, a look of surprise dawning on his face.

He took it from Maeglin reverently, staring at what remained of his sister with a shocked expression. He stumbled, but only for a moment, finally pointing to Glorfindel and Ecthelion. “Take care of him,” he ordered and strode from the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Ecthelion and Glorfindel hurried Maeglin from the room as more arguing broke out. “Don’t mind them,” Glorfindel said with a smile, “they’re arguing about arguing now.”

His escorts debated between themselves in Quenya for a moment, then seemed to realize they had excluded Maeglin from the conversation.

“Habit,” Ecthelion explained, almost seeming embarrassed.

“Is he angry with me?” Maeglin asked nervously. Turgon had already vanished from the hall before they had entered, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit of dread at the fact that the man had left him.

Glorfindel seemed horrified. “Of course not,” he said quickly. “He’s in shock.”

“He’s bad at processing emotions,” said Ecthelion. “Give him a few hours. He’ll come around.”

Exhaustion caught up to Maeglin, finally, and by the time they stepped from Penlod’s home into the bright sunshine, he was limping.

Glorfindel gave him his own horse - saying that the one he had come with was injured and needed to heal - and helped him to clamor into the saddle.

They led him on foot through the city, Ecthelion holding the horse’s reigns and Glorfindel staying beside Maeglin to steady him.

He had seen the Tower of the King when they’d entered the city, but a part of him couldn’t truly believe that was where they were headed, weaving through the streets. People called out greetings, mostly to Glorfindel, who seemed just as beloved as his mother had claimed, although Ecthelion seemed equally popular.

They waved away the admirers, however, promising Maeglin they would get him to the Tower so that he could rest soon.

Once inside the Square of the Palace, Maeglin found himself even more amazed, looking between the Great Fountain, the palace, and the Tower of Turgon with wide eyes. “Is it as you pictured?” Glorfindel asked curiously.

“No,” said Maeglin breathlessly. “It’s better.”

“I’m going to fetched a healer,” Ecthelion said as he helped Maeglin from his horse. “You look horrid.”

“No!” A healer would probably mean seeing him naked, and then his shameful secret would be revealed. He would do anything if it meant keeping the news of his castration from the people of Gondolin. “Please.”

Ecthelion seemed torn. “Alright,” he said finally. “If you insist.”

They led him into the palace, and the people there let them in without question, even as they took Maeglin into one of the sitting rooms off the main hall. Maeglin felt horribly dirty, surrounded by all the finery, but neither Lord seemed troubled, pushing him into a plush chair with a promise that it could be cleaned.

He had no idea what he should do.

Maeglin looked at his hands nervously, not wanting to meet their faces. He’d reached Gondolin, now what? Was he just supposed to sit quietly and wait for a meeting with Turgon? How long would that take? Hours? Days? Weeks?

Either Glorfindel read his mind, or they were both thinking the same thing. “I imagine your uncle will be here soon,” he said, dropping into a chair across from Maeglin. “I sent word that we’d arrived." 

“Do you know everyone?” Maeglin asked.

“He does,” Ecthelion supplied.

“I know a lot of people,” Glorfindel corrected. “But not everyone.”

Before Maeglin could press them further, asking about his uncle or the city, the door opened and a servant stepped in, bowing. “Lord Glorfindel, if I may?”

Glorfindel followed him into the hall, but Ecthelion remained with Maeglin, seeming unconcerned. “Most likely news from your uncle,” he said. “I suspect he’s realized how rude it was for him to storm out, earlier.”

But when the Lord of the Golden Flower returned, his face said that it wasn’t good news.

“What is it?” Maeglin asked.

Glorfindel was terse. “Your father is here.”

Maeglin’s world crashed around him, and he had to fight back the urge to run. It shouldn’t have been possible. Eol shouldn’t have managed to find Gondolin, let alone gain entry. “I’m not going with him,” Maeglin said quickly, his eyes widening with fear.

“Of course you aren’t,” Ecthelion soothed.

“Your uncle is granting him an audience to decide what is to be done with him.”

_Lock him up, _Maeglin wanted to say. _Throw away the key. _But he kept his mouth shut. “Do I need to be there?” 

Glorfindel seemed hesitant to answer. “You are the only one who can testify to his crimes,” he said finally.

Maeglin managed to force himself to stand. Echethion and Glorfindel flanked him as they walked from the room, but unlike before, it didn’t seem as casual. They looked as though they were ready for a fight.

They stopped at the door to the king’s audience chamber, and Glorfindel met Maeglin’s eyes, his face full of compassion. “You don’t have to-”

“I do.” They were right. He was the only one who could say what Eol had done. But he wasn’t going to admit to all of it. Did his father even remember what he’d done? Did he remember the rape? Or had it been a drunken blur for him?

He shook it from his mind.

“Look at me,” Ecthelion said. Maeglin swung to look at him, but the minstrel shook his head. “No, I meant if you look at me, I will cause a scene and Glorfindel can get you out.”

“I don’t need-”

“It never hurts to have a plan,” Glorfindel promised, then pushed open the door before any of them could talk themselves out of it.

The lords of Gondolin were all there, and for the first time, Maeglin was glad they’d been armed.

It was clear as soon as they’d entered that it had already soured. Eol and Turgon were both staring at one another, Turgon looking as though he wanted nothing more than to kill Eol then and there, but a woman was standing beside him, her hand on his arm.

Idril.

She matched Aredhel’s description of his cousin perfectly, and yet she was still more beautiful than Maeglin could have imagined. It took Glorfindel nudging him for him to stop staring.

Instead, he forced himself to look at his father.

But Eol wasn’t looking at Maeglin, still staring up at Turgon who stood in on a raised platform, in front of his throne. “He is my son, you have no right to lay claim upon him.” His voice was frighteningly calm, and Maeglin’s stomach twisted as he wondered what lie’s he’d been feeding them.

Turgon didn’t seem to believe him, but the rest of the lords were clearly uneasy. Surely they hadn’t fallen for it, had they?

“You stand accused of murder,” the King replied. “You have no claim to him.”

Maeglin stepped forward, leaving Glorfindel and Ecthelion behind as he approached his father. “My lord-“ Maeglin began, but Eol turned on him.

“I am your father, boy,” he said, his face soft.

Maeglin couldn’t recall the last time his father had looked at him like that. “That’s not what you told me.”

“I don’t know what lies you’ve been feeding them - about murder or abuse - but you are my son. Your mother is waiting for you at home.” The worst part was, it was a lie they wanted to believe. Of course, they would fall for it, no one wanted to believe Aredhel was dead. Maeglin's heart plummeted, wondering how long Eol had already been winning them over, and how close to believing him Turgon was.

“He’s lying!” Maeglin shouted, pointing to Eol. “He killed her.” But he could see the unease on the lords’ faces and knew he must look like a raging madman compared to his calm and collected father. They had no proof of her death, after all, only the word of a stranger and a lock of hair. Maeglin was no one, and his father was a friend of Thingol. “I won’t go with him.”

He turned quickly, trying to meet Ecthelion’s eyes, but the minstrel didn’t start his promised distraction, giving his head a slight shake. “I’m not lying!”

He wanted to weep. To scream. To make them believe him, no matter what it took.

It was Turgon that saved him. “Of course you aren’t.” The king brushed Idril aside, stepping forward, although Maeglin was still the closest to Eol. “He is a man of Goldolin now,” Turgon said, and for a moment Maeglin swelled with pride. “He would not lie to his king.”

But a laugh from Eol was all it took to crush Maeglin’s pride.

“A man?” he asked, “Is that what you told them, welp?” Clearly, he’d realized he wasn’t going to win, that Turgon didn’t believe him, and in an instant, his hateful expression returned. It was frightening how fast he could change.

Maeglin pulled back as he stepped forward, but, as always, his father was larger and stronger.

Everyone seemed too afraid to move, as if realizing they had made a mistake in letting Eol get so close to his son, they now were afraid of trying to rescue Maeglin.

“You are no man.” Before Maeglin could stop him, rendered helpless by his father’s gaze, Eol ripped at his leggings, then shoved Maeglin back.

He stumbled, then fell, his legs sliding apart, and shame burned his face as they all saw what his father had done to him. “He will no longer sully my line with his dirty blood.”

Rage filled Turgon’s face anew. “Arrest him.”

For a horrifying moment, Maeglin was certain that he was going to be drug away alongside his father, but Penlod and Galdor stepped over him, leaving him on the floor, still exposed, and grabbed Eol, dragging him away. He went quietly, his eyes never once leaving his son.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder. Idril knelt beside him. “Pull up your pants,” she whispered.

If possible, Maeglin’s face grew redder, and he struggled to cover himself.

“Maeglin-“ Turgon began, but he didn’t want to hear it. Before anyone could say anything, before they forced themselves to lie and say he wasn’t a deformed freak - Maeglin ran from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been doing research on the aftermath of castration for this and now I’m definitely on a watchlist.
> 
> Also, some guy recently got arrested in Florida for performing castrations without a medical license because some people are really stupid.


	7. Chapter 7

It took hours before anyone found him, even though it seemed Turgon had all the lords and half the army looking for him. Maeglin had hidden in a broom cupboard, and even though two different elves had already looked inside, neither of them spotted Maeglin, tucked in the shadows under a shelf.

But when he was found, it wasn’t by a soldier or any of the lords, but by the King of Gondolin himself.

“Move over,” his uncle said, crawling under the dusty shelf to join him.

Maeglin slid away, and Turgon didn’t move to grab him. “Hello,” he said shyly, looking down at his hands. He didn’t know what to say, none of his plans for his entrance into Gondolin included being half-stripped and then hiding in a closet.

“Hello.” Even the weak light, Maeglin could see the kind expression on Turgon’s face as he spoke.

They fell into silence after that, neither of them seeming to have any idea of what to do. Finally, Turgon spoke, “I hope you know, I wasn’t angry with you.” He reached out, placing a hand on Maeglin’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault.”

“He made me bury her.” As soon as he’d spoken Maeglin winced. He wasn’t sure why he had said that, of all things, but it was what slipped out.

Turgon was quiet, then he said, “I will listen.” His voice sounded strained, almost as though he was fighting tears.

“We were going to leave,” Maeglin whispered. “We made it to the stable when he found us. He slit-” he choked, skipping that detail, unable to think about it. “He left her on the floor, and he- he tied me next to her. All night. I- I-”

Maeglin hadn’t actually processed most of what had happened since his mother’s death, and as he tried to recount it for Turgon, he felt his composure slipping. A hand touched his shoulder, and when he didn’t shove it away, Turgon wrapped an arm around Maeglin’s shoulders.

“Then he made me dig her grave and lay in it with her.” He lost control of himself after that, and Turgon pulled him closer, both arms around him, rubbing his back. “She was cold and stiff. It was so-”

“I’m here,” his uncle murmured. “You’re safe. I won’t let him hurt you.”

Finally, Maeglin got his emotions under control enough to finish his story. “He took me to the forge, and shaved my head - we, Avari, we don’t cut our hair. Ever.” He looked up at Turgon, begging the other to understand, despite their cultural differences.

The king seemed to be at a loss for words, but he patted Maeglin’s shoulder as if to assure him that he understood.

“And then. That’s when he-” Maeglin couldn’t say it.

Turgon said it for him, “He castrated you.”

Maeglin tipped his head back, looking up at his uncle. “Yes,” he whispered. “He was afraid I would sully his bloodline by having children.” He hid his face in Turgon’s chest.

“I would make the argument that your mother and you are the best things to have happened to his bloodline.”

Maeglin leaned into Turgon, shivering. “They called me Neth, after that,” he mumbled. “Then called me to his room one night-” Maeglin caught himself. No. He’d revealed too much. He wasn’t going to admit he’d had his virginity taken by his own father.

“What happened?” Turgon asked gently.

“He was drunk and I was able to overpower him. I took his sword and ran.”

Turgon seemed to know there was more missing from his story, but he didn’t press the issue, patting Maeglin’s back. “That man will never hurt you again, Maeglin,” he promised.

“What is going to happen to him?” Maeglin asked.

“Execution.”

Maeglin was surprised.

It didn’t seem a very Noldor thing to do, but if that was what Turgon wanted, he supposed everyone would just accept it. And if the city did love Aredhel as much as it seemed, everyone would be calling for Eol’s head soon enough.

“Good,” he said.

Turgon didn’t seem surprised by his blood lust. They sat in silence for a long time, then finally the King spoke, “No one-” Turgon stopped, then turned to face Maeglin. “No one is going to share what they saw, Lomion. The only witnesses were my friends, and they will take your secrets to the grave.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Ecthelion said you refused the aid of a healer,” Turgon said. “If I called someone I trust with my life, would you allow them to treat you?”

“They wouldn’t tell anyone?” Maeglin asked, biting his lip.

“Not a soul.”

Turgon smiled. “Let me have someone show you to your room.”

* * *

Maeglin didn’t like the healer.

It wasn’t that she was rude or judgmental, it was that she told him to strip and lay on the bed before even introducing himself.

Once he was fully nude she made him roll onto his stomach, and gently dabbed at the healing cuts from when he’d been beaten. Then her hand and gaze traveled lower and he felt her still.

“Have you had sex recently?” She was emotionless as she spoke, and somehow that made it worse.

“No.”

“I would not call you a liar, my prince,” she said, “but something has ripped your anus rather severely. It has only just started healing-”

“Stop.”

“Were you-” she stopped, as though she couldn’t even say the word _rape_. Instead, she asked, “Were you hurt?”

“Get. Out.”

At first, he didn’t think she was going to move, so he jumped from the bed, taking the blanket with him and wrapping it around himself. “Out,” he repeated.

She bowed and hurried away, clearly distressed.

He grabbed the fresh set of clothes that a servant had brought him, then stormed into the bathing chamber attached to his room. Dipping a towel in water, he scrubbed at his flesh until he turned pink, then quickly washed his hair.

They’d probably have sent a servant to assist him if he asked, but he didn’t want anyone that close to him. So he took care of himself, as he always had, and quickly dressed.

It was the fastest he’d ever bathed in his life, and yet it was possibly the most refreshed he’d ever felt. But a sense of dread filled him, knowing he’d have to face Turgon.

There was no telling what she’d told him.

Maeglin groaned and rubbed his eyes. He just wanted to be left alone, was that too much to ask? But he squared his shoulders and stepped from his bathing chamber, wishing he could be surprised that his uncle was waiting for him.

“What did she tell you?” Maeglin asked sharply as he entered.

The king seemed surprised. “Nothing,” he said, giving Maeglin a curious glance. “I told you she would keep your secrets.”

Maeglin’s chest ached. He wanted to tell Turgon. He wanted his uncle to hold him and promise that he would be alright.

But that wasn’t what would happen.

Turgon would be disgusted. Anyone would, and he would turn Maeglin away, forcing him to rely on Glorfindel or Ecthelion’s hospitality. If they would even have him.

“Good,” he muttered, and let Turgon lead him out of the room, telling him that a dinner had been prepared.


	8. Chapter 8

Maeglin barely slept that night.

The next morning, the door to his room creaked open, and a familiar voice called, “Maeglin, may I come in?”

“Ecthelion?” He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes weakly.

The minstrel slipped inside, padding across the room silently. “I wanted to reach you before anyone else,” he said.

“Why?” Even in the dim light, he could see something wearing at Ecthelion’s face, as though stressed.

“Your uncle called a meeting of the lords after you retired last night.”

That explained Ecthelion’s drawn face, he must not have slept.

“And?” Had they been talking about him? What fate had been chosen? Had they talked to the healer? Had she told them about what Eol had done to his son?

The minstrel sat on Maeglin’s bed, drumming his fingers in thought. “Your father’s fate has been decided.”

“Imprisonment?” Maeglin guessed.

Ecthelion shook his head. “Execution.” Once the smaller elf was dressed, the Lord of the Fountain led Maeglin from the room with a gentle arm around his shoulder. “If you want,” he said quietly. “I can try to arrange time for you-”

“No,” Maeglin whispered. “I want him dead.”

Ecthelion nodded. Before they exited the palace Maeglin pulled away, not wanting to be seen curling into him for protection.

Everything went by in a blur, if it hadn’t been for the Lord of the Fountain, Maeglin wasn’t certain he could have managed to walk straight. He focused on the elf’s glittering jewelry, forcing himself to think about it, about how it had been made and what style it had been cast in.

It was easier than thinking about Eol, who was being led in front of him.

The dark elf hadn’t so much as looked at his son, holding his head high and proud as though he didn’t even care what they did to him. Surely they had told him what was coming?

Turgon barely acknowledged Maeglin, only giving him a slight nod, as though to offer him some sort of silent support. Idril patted his back and his heart lurched, but she took off after her father.

Glorfindel was waiting at the peak, and his face twisted when he saw Maeglin. He hurried toward him, stepping in front of him as though to block his view, and murmured, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I want to know when he’s dead,” Maeglin snarled.

The Golden Lord seemed slightly unnerved, but he nodded and said nothing more.

It was Penlod who carried out the sentence, although his job was made easier when Eol didn’t offer any resistance. In fact, his face was hauntingly calm when he looked at his son and said, “Here may you yet die the same death as I.” And then he was gone.

Maeglin tried not to shiver as Glorfindel’s hand laid on his shoulder.

And then Eol was dead.

He thought he would feel a rush of relief, knowing his father could torment him no longer, he felt nothing. No one tried to stop him, no one even seemed to notice as he walked forward, peeking over the edge and looking down. It was a long drop, and although he imagined his father’s broken body, he couldn’t see anything but shadows.

Maeglin sat railing, looking out across the encircling mountains, not looking down. Although he didn’t particularly want to sit there, he couldn’t bring himself to move and didn’t know where he would go if he left. He wasn’t even certain how to get back to the palace.

Finally, a hand landed on his shoulder, and a familiar voice said, “There you are, Lomion.”

_Idril_.

Maeglin’s throat went dry. “**My lady**,” he murmured. It was the first serious attempt he’d made at speaking the little Quenya he knew, but he could tell from her face he’d bungled it.

“I speak Sindarin,” she said, giving him a soft smile and offering him her arm.

Jumping from the rail he grabbed her arm, offering a forced smile in return. “No one knew where you’d gone,” she said.

“I-”

“Father thought you must be with Lords Glorfindel and Ecthelion, but they believed you were with us. I’m sorry we lost you.” Her smile tightened and she turned away from his gaze.

Was he staring too hard at her? He couldn’t help it, he’d never seen anyone who looked like her before. Maeglin forced himself to blink and looked ahead instead. “I just-”

“I’ll take you home.” But she let go of his arm and hurried ahead, leaving him behind.

Maeglin struggled after her, wondering vaguely what he’d said or done. Or if she was just that disgusted by him. Heat rose to his face, remembering that Idril had been there when his father had revealed his castration.

“I-” What should he say? I’m sorry I’m deformed? I’m sorry I disgust you? Chewing at his lip, Maeglin mumbled, “Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble.” But her face said another story.

Idril didn’t attempt to hold a conversation as they returned to the palace, and Maeglin only stumbled behind her, not knowing what he could do or say to make her look at him with less wariness.

She took him to the door of the palace, then turned to face him and announced, “I’m meant to be meeting someone. I will leave you here,” she said, her eyes darting across the square.

“Thank you.” Before she could stop him, Maeglin grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to it.

Idril fled and he stared after her mournfully.

* * *

As much as Maeglin had hoped that he and his uncle might have bonded when Turgon had rescued him from the closet, it soon became clear that was just wishful thinking.

Turgon indulged him readily, gifting him with lavish rooms in the palace, Noldorin clothing, and a plethora of tutors to help him with languages, customs, swordplay, and anything else he could want to think. But he didn’t seem to be able to give Maeglin the time of day.

For his first week in Goldolin, the only time Maeglin saw his uncle was at meals. Even then, Turgon would smile and greet him, but quickly turn his attention to Idril, leaving Maeglin to pick at his food in silence. The king insisted they use Quenya at meals, saying it would help Maeglin to learn, but all it did was cut him off from the conversation.

Idril did her best to help Maeglin, but she seemed to grow bored of constantly trying to remind him how to eat properly, what utensils were for what and how to ask for the salt shaker, so after a few days she too ignored him, only giving him chiding looks when he’d made a mistake. Perhaps realized that Maeglin’s repeated mistakes were just intended to draw her attention. Or perhaps she just didn’t care.

Maeglin was relieved when, on his fifth day in the city, he walked into dinner to see Glorfindel already seated. The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower smiled up at him, and when he spoke, he called out his greeting in Sindarin rather than Quenya. He hadn’t seen Glorfindel since Eol’s execution, and he quickly explained it by apologizing and saying he’d been on a patrol. “It was already planned, I tried to convince Egalmoth to take my place, but it was his daughter’s begetting day.”

Turgon gave him an indulging smile, but murmured, “Maeglin is learning Quenya now.”

Glorfindel only shook his head. “I enjoy practicing my Sindarin, my friend.” Then he turned his head away from the king, offering Maeglin a smile instead. “How are you?”

“Well enough,” he replied, sitting down quickly beside the golden lord.

They spent most of the meal locked in conversation, mostly Glorfindel telling him about the valley, and when it was over, Maeglin walked with him out to the balcony, away from Turgon and Idril.

“He doesn’t mean to hurt you,” the Lord of the Golden Flower said, glancing back toward the house.

“I know,” Maeglin muttered, his ears turning red. He jumped up and perched on the stone railing, swinging his feet. 

He could think of a thousand things he wanted to ask, now that they were away from his uncle and cousin, but all that came out was, “He hates the sight of me.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“I’m a reminder of everything he hates,” Maeglin snarled. “Of Eol, of my mother’s death, my own deformity-”

“He doesn’t blame you for that.”

“But he still treats me as though I’m weak!” Maeglin snapped, glowering at Glorfindel. “All of you do!”

“I don’t care if you have balls,” Glorfindel said. “A lot of my friends don’t have balls, and they’re perfectly fine that way.”

“Are they men?” Maeglin spat.

“Well,” Glorfindel faltered, his cheerful expression slipping, but only for a second. “No. They’re women. But it doesn’t matter! I like them either way.”

“I’m not a woman!” Maeglin screamed, shoving Glorfindel away. A sick memory bubbled to the surface, of Eol pinning him down and calling him his mother’s name. “I’m not Aredhel!”

Glorfindel seemed startled. “Of course you’re not Aredhel,” he said gently. “Why would I think that?”

Maeglin bit his lip, saying nothing.

“Is something the matter?” Glorfindel asked worriedly. “Your uncle mentioned that you’d seen a healer-”

“Are you all discussing my balls behind my back!?” Maeglin snarled, turning on Glorfindel and shoving him. “Did she tell you about my ass? Could she even say it? **Rape**. That’s what it was. She didn’t have the guts to-”

He stopped, pulling back from the horrified golden lord. Of course, she hadn’t told. If she hadn’t told Turgon, she certainly wouldn’t tell Glorfindel.

But Maeglin had told him.

“Who- who raped you?”

Maeglin tried to pull away. Glorfindel allowed him to, but whispered, “Please don’t run. Talk to me. I won’t tell a soul.”

“You- you won’t?”

“I won’t. I swear it on my honor,” he said seriously. “Your secrets I will take to the grave and beyond.”

Maeglin sat down slowly, pulling his knees to his chest, and Glorfindel sat beside him. “He made me dress up as her,” he said quietly. “I thought he was just being strange, but then he- he-” Maeglin shook his head. “It hurt so bad.”

“Does it still?” Glorfindel asked gently.

“Just in my head.”

“That’s as real as anything else.” He placed his hand on Maeglin’s shoulder, and when the other didn’t pull away, he patted it gently.

“I hate him,” Maeglin mumbled.

“I do as well.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maeglin’s body issues are a large part of this chapter. So trigger warning for that.
> 
> Also I feel like I should include the disclaimer that I don’t have a penis and I’m not an expert on how they work? In case I majorly screwed that bit up lol. 
> 
> Most of my ‘research’ comes from Varys on Game of Thrones and wikipedia.

Maeglin tried to focus his energy on the lessons Turgon had provided him. Once, the history and language of the Noldor would have fascinated him, but that had been when it was his mother telling him.

Pengolodh, a loremaster and friend of Turgon, made even the tales of battles and noble lords, boring. Although perhaps it wasn’t his fault, perhaps it was just the books he’d chosen.

Blinking wearily in an attempt to keep his eyes open, Maeglin glanced around the silent library. There was no sign of anyone, not even his tutor. Abandoning the book he’d been told to read, Maeglin pushed himself to his feet and wandered down the row of books. They were in a science section, and although his initial goal had been to find a study of ores in the area, but before he got there he stumbled across the medical books.

He paused, running his hand over the spines.

Was there anyone like him? Was there any explanation of men who had been castrated? Maeglin wasn’t a healer, he’d never studied biology. He wasn’t even entirely certain what purpose they had been intended to serve.

For the next week, every time Pengolodh left him in the library, Maeglin would return to the biology section, grab a book, and flip through it. He would sit with a Sindarin dictionary beside him, stumbling through the indexes and looking for anything related to his condition.

_Hormones. Testicles. Castration. Male. Penis._

But there was nothing. Elves weren’t meant to go through what Maeglin had gone through. Livestock was castrated, not Eldar.

Maeglin froze.

With trembling fingers, he replaced the book he’d been reading - which had some of the most detailed diagrams he’d ever seen, but little else of interest - and wandered down to the section on animals.

The third book he searched had a section dedicated to castration in sheep.

Maeglin curled on the floor, not returning to his desk, and flipped quickly through the pages. His Quenya wasn’t good enough to understand what he was looking at, all he could manage was to pick out a few words here and there. Even his dictionary just wasn’t enough.

He was still curled on the floor when Pengolodh returned. Maeglin didn’t hear him coming, and the scholar was behind him, leaning over his shoulder before he had any idea he was there, “Interesting reading.”

Maeglin almost screamed, throwing the book across the room and turning as fast as he could to stare at his mentor. “I-”

“Interested in farming?”

It took a moment for Maeglin to realize he wasn’t being sarcastic. Pengolodh seemed to genuinely think Maeglin was interested in raising farm animals. He wanted to laugh. “I-”

“I may have a copy of that in Sindarin,” he mused, pulling the book from his hands and walking away. He ran his hand down the “Of course, I have to ask that you focus on what I’ve given you while we’re here.” He pulled a book from the shelf, then handed it to Maeglin. “But in your own time, you may find this easier to read.”

He looked down at the book, surprised to see that it was, in fact, the exact same book, only written in a language he could understand. “I- thank you, my lord.”

“I’m not a lord, my prince,” he said dismissively.

“I’m not a prince,” Maeglin retorted.

“Your uncle would disagree.”

_My uncle disagrees with the concept of me_, Maeglin wanted to say. But his bit back his comment, only nodding. “Thank you, loremaster.”

Pengolodh offered him a smile. “That’s all for today, I believe. You certainly don’t seem to be able to focus on anything I’ve set you.”

Maeglin didn’t return to the palace. He tried to avoid spending time there, instead hiding in either the library or - on days when it wasn’t unbearably sunny - he went to one of the city’s many gardens. Since it was overcast and cloudy, he went to a public square near the palace, climbed a tree, and made himself comfortable.

He read for hours, flipping through the pages, reading about the effects of castration on sheep and goats. When his stomach churned, he sternly reminded himself that he wasn’t an animal. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He was late returning to the palace, and by the time he got there dinner had already started. Since he didn’t feel like joining in late, Maeglin grabbed food from the kitchen and slipped to his room. Almost as an afterthought, he locked the door behind him.

That would keep out any nosy relatives or servants. While he was more than used to his father sticking his nose in Maeglin’s business, he wasn’t used to having servants doing the same.

Once the door was shut he sat on his bed, scowling at the text. _I’m not an animal_, he told himself sternly, trying not to remember the words from the text: “_Castrations will typically reduce the sex drive somewhat or even eliminate it altogether_.”

“I’ll prove you wrong,” he growled, sinking to his bed, pushing down his pants.

But he didn’t prove it wrong.

As the sun set in the distance, Maeglin laid on his bed, glowering at the ceiling. Getting aroused wasn’t the problem - all he’d done was think about Idril and the medical illustrations he’d been flipping through - but it didn’t last.

He snarled, cursing his father and kicking away his sheets. Already he knew that sleep wouldn’t come easily, so he stepped out of his room, slipped from the palace unseen, and disappeared into the streets of Goldolin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I’m imagining Pengolodh telling Turgon that Maeglin likes animals and he gives Maeglin a bunch of goats or something.


	10. Chapter 10

The night after he’d discovered his body’s unwillingness to function had been the first night he’d spent wandering the hidden city, but it was far from the last.

It became his routine.

Go to his lessons in the day, then spend the night wandering until he fell asleep, usually on a bench or under a bush. After the first week, Turgon quit sending guards to look for him.

Instead, he would wake as the sun rose, then stumble to the library where Pengolodh would sigh softly and offer him breakfast. But he didn’t question Maeglin’s actions or try to talk him out of it.

They seemed content to let Maeglin do as he pleased, even if that was self-destructive. Or perhaps they just didn’t care. Either way, Maeglin was left unattended in his wanderings.

Most of the time.

He tried not to glare over his shoulder as Ecthelion casually struck up a conversation with a woman he’d passed on the street. It wouldn’t be so bad, if not for the fact that the minstrel had ‘accidentally’ wandered down the same streets as Maeglin across half the city.

But as long as he didn’t try to talk to him, Maeglin was determined to ignore him. Unfortunately, Ecthelion was in a talkative mood. He caught up to Maeglin in a park, as the smith had been examining a beautiful statue, and the minstrel had happily pretended to have just noticed him.

“Lomion!” he called, his voice as strange and dreamy as ever. “There you are, my prince. How is life treating you?”

“Better when I’m not being followed.”

The tips of Ecthelion’s ears turned red. “Ah,” was all he said.

“What do you want?”

“I thought I might invite you to dinner-”

“No thank you.”

“I’m having supper with a friend-”

“I don’t care,” with that, Maeglin stormed away. Thankfully, Ecthelion didn’t try to follow him.

That wasn’t the last time that he got the feeling that either Ecthelion or Glorfindel was following him, but after that, they both did their best to be a bit more subtle.

For some reason, they - and more specifically, Glorfindel, who seemed to be the leader of the two - had taken an interest in Maeglin. Even on the rare occasions Maeglin wasn’t wandering the city he often found himself running into one or the other of them.

The Noldor had lots of holidays, and, unfortunately, Maeglin was expected to attend most of them, and it was at one such event that he stumbled into Glorfindel again. The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower smiled at him and offered him a glass of wine, and Maeglin allowed himself to be led onto the balcony, away from the rest of the party.

He couldn’t complain too much, as Idril was in the gardens below them, laughing with suitors and she was just in his view.

“Don’t,” Glorfindel murmured, following Maeglin’s eyes to the gardens.

“Why not?” he snapped, his eyes flashing slightly. “It’s harmless.”

“Harmless to look, yes, but why watch her when there are plenty of other young women about?”

Maeglin just snorted. “It doesn’t matter either way,” he said. “She doesn’t like me because I’m a eunuch,” Maeglin mumbled, hiding his face in his hands.

“She does like you,” Glorfindel corrected him. “But she doesn’t love you because you’re her cousin.”

Maeglin just shook his head and pulled away, back into the party.

But he didn’t stay for long, and his wandering feet led him outside, back into Gondolin’s many alleys. He’d long since explored all the main roads, leaving him hunting down the back roads for something - anything - to occupy himself.

Down one such road, he stumbled across an apothecary shop. It wasn’t the sort of place Maeglin usually frequented - herbs held no interest for him - but given that it was open on a holiday he couldn’t help but be interested.

Before he entered, he pulled up his hood, hoping that no one found it suspicious. But he couldn’t risk being recognized, for some reason feeling as though the shop was illicit and entering it was ill-advised. Or, at the very least, it was the kind of thing his uncle would likely frown on.

A bell rang as he entered, and a woman seemed to materialize at the counter. “May I help you?”

Not a woman. Their voice was too deep. Maeglin frowned, squinting through the haze of perfumes and smoke.

A jolt of understanding ran through him. His father had made mention of those who felt they’d been born in the wrong body - women who wished to be men, or the other way around - but he’d never met one before.

“I-”

“Come to gawk?”

“No, miss,” he replied, hoping he got the pronouns right.

She didn’t seem convinced. “What are you searching for?”

“I was wondering why you’re open tonight.”

“It’s a holiday,” she replied, as though it was perfectly obvious. “People enjoy fooling around with their lovers on such days. Perhaps they want an enhancement or to prevent a child. Either way, they seek me out.”

An enhancement? Maeglin swallowed a growing excitement. Could such a thing exist? “What kind of enhancements?” he asked, trying not to let his voice betray his feelings too much.

“The sexual kind.”

He wanted to roll his eyes. Of course, it was the sexual kind. “What does it help?”

“What do you want to help?”

He licked his lips nervously. “Sometimes I can’t…” his voice trailed off. It wasn’t sometimes, it was all the time. And it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss with a stranger.

“Can’t get it up?” she tutted. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

She vanished through a doorway behind the shop, then shouted. “Come!”

He stumbled after her.

In the back of the shop was a dimly lit room, although Maeglin was grateful that it had less of the strong perfumes than the main room. She tutted, running her fingers along vials and bottles. “It would help,” she said, squinting, “if I knew more about the problem.”

“I don’t have testicles.” His face turned red as soon as he’d said it, and it took all his will power not to flee the shop then and there. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Why do I care?” she retorted. “As long as you’re not hurting anyone, I don’t share the secrets of my customers.”Then she grabbed a bottle and handed it to Maeglin. “This.”

He fumbled in his pocket, clumsily pulling out some of the coins his uncle had given him. Judging by her face - and that fact that she took only one coin and still gave it change - it was more than he should be waving around.

As soon as the bottle was paid for Maeglin hurried from the shop, his purchase tucked safely into his pocket. His heart was in his throat as he rushed back to his room in the palace, ducking around party-goers and refusing to be pulled into conversations.

All he wanted to do was return to his room and bolt the door, so that was precisely what he did.

He shed his formal robes quickly, stripping down to his underclothes. He barely glanced at the dosage on the bottle before sipping from it.

At first, it didn’t seem to have worked, but soon - after digging out one of the medical books he’d stolen from Pengolodh, the one with illustrations - he found himself growing aroused.

And for the first time in months, he was able to finish.

Laying on his bed, panting in the afterglow, he glanced at the small bottle. What harm would one more sip do?


	11. Chapter 11

Taking more had been a very stupid decision.

His heart raced and sweat dripped from his skin, but no matter what he did he couldn’t alleviate the arousal. Briefly, he considered returning to the apothecary, but what good would that do him? It was well past midnight and had started to rain, surely even the strange woman would have closed up shop.

Instead, he went to the only other person he could think of.

“What is it?” Glorfindel only looked mildly surprised to see Maeglin standing on his door, wrapped in a thick cloak and still soaked by the rain.

“I made a mistake.”

The golden lord pulled him inside, and Maeglin wasn’t at all surprised to see Ecthelion standing at the other end of the entrance hall.

“What happened?” Glorfindel asked, helping Maeglin out of his soaked cloak, brushing away the servants that tried to assist.

“It doesn’t work,” Maeglin whispered, watching as the strangers hurried from the room. “Ever since he cut me.”

“What doesn’t-” Glorfindel caught himself, seeming to realize what Maeglin was referring to. “You can’t get hard?”

“I can,” Maeglin said tightly. “But it doesn’t _last_.”

“And what was your mistake?” Glorfindel almost looked terrified to hear it.

Maeglin was too embarrassed to admit what he’d done, pulling the bottle from his pocket and handing it to Glorfindel. He saw the other’s eyes widen as he read the label.

“Come and sit down,” Glorfindel murmured, wrapping an arm around Maeglin and pulling him into the house.

Ecthelion didn’t speak, but he followed after them, questions written on his face.

“How much of this did you take?” Glorfindel asked, his voice still soft and soothing, leading Maeglin into a sitting room and helping him into a plush chair.

“Half the bottle,” he admitted.

Glorfindel’s eyes widened. “That’s several doses,” he said sharply.

“I said it was a mistake.”

Ecthelion came to stand behind Maeglin, his hands dropping onto the smaller elf’s shoulders. “Are you well?”

Glorfindel’s hand quickly wrapped over the bottle’s label, hiding it from his friend’s eyes. Clearly he meant his promise not to share Maeglin’s secrets.

Maeglin was beyond caring what Ecthelion knew. “I took an aphrodisiac,” he whined, dropping his head back onto the chair. He was too hot, burning up, and couldn’t take his mind off what his body was doing.

“You overdosed on aphrodisiac,” Glorfindel corrected sharply.

“There’s an easy enough solution for that.” Ecthelion leaned forward, his hand moving toward Maeglin’s groin.

The smith yelped. Glorfindel lunged, grabbing his friend’s wrist. “Don’t,” he said sharply.

Ecthelion froze, seeming to realize he had misread the room. “Apologies,” he said, and for the first time, Maeglin didn’t want to hear his dreamy voice.

“Go,” Glorfindel said. “Please.”

Ecthelion nodded. “I will not be far,” he said, more to Glorfindel than Maeglin, then he swept from the room.

Maeglin dug his nails into his palms. He had to admit, Ecthelion’s offer - while it had caught him by surprise - was somewhat enticing. But the thought was too much. He’d only wanted to see if he could force himself to have an erection, not have sex.

He leaned his head back, panting slightly as the feeling worsened. “I didn’t know what to do,” he confessed, shaking slightly. “My father didn’t exactly teach me about these things.”

Of course, Maeglin had figured out a lot of it. He knew what he had enjoyed before, but since his castration, it hadn’t been the same. The potion had been intended to help that, not worsen it.

“How long ago did you take it?”

“Three hours, give or take.” He swallowed. “It was really nice at first. That’s why I took more.”

Glorfindel sighed, stroking hair from Maeglin’s sweaty forehead. “I’m going to get you water.”

When he returned, he pulled over a chair, sitting next to Maeglin and offering the other a glass.

“Have you tried a cool bath?”

Maeglin nodded, gulping the water greedily. He hadn’t realized how parched he was until he tasted it, but then he couldn’t get enough. Thankfully, Glorfindel had brought a pitcher, and he refilled Maeglin’s cup.

“Why did you come to me?”

Maeglin paused. He hadn’t fully thought that through for himself. “I couldn’t go to my uncle.”

“Because you want something he can’t give you?”

“I-” Maeglin stopped, not trusting himself to speak. That was it, wasn’t it? He wanted Glorfindel because he was pretty and kind and - as much as he hated to admit it - looked a bit like Idril. And, more than anything, Glorfindel knew what had happened to him. He knew he could trust the golden lord. “No,” he lied.

“The only reason I didn’t make the offer sooner is that I know what has happened to you, Maeglin. I didn’t wish to frighten you.”

The smith’s eyes darted toward the door. “You’re _his_.” He’d suspected it for a while. Glorfindel and Ecthelion were always lingering near one another, but since he’d seen Ecthelion in Glorfindel’s home so late at night, he’d been sure.

Glorfindel laughed. “I don’t belong to him, Maeglin,” he promised. “And clearly has no qualms about assisting you.”

He gulped more water. He didn’t trust himself to speak and hoped Glorfindel would just get the hint. But the other was too considerate. “I will help you, but you need to use words.”

Maeglin lowered the water glass slowly. “I want to be touched,” he whispered. “I- It hurts, Glorfindel. I can’t do anything for it.” 

Glorfindel slid to his knees, sliding between Maeglin’s legs. “I will stop if you ask,” he promised, reaching forward. To Maeglin’s disappointment, all he did was take the water glass and set it aside.

Then he finally reached for Maeglin’s groin. All he did at first was rub him gently with his hands, watching Maeglin’s face as though afraid he was going to panic. Then, finally, he slid his hands into Maeglin’s pants, touching his flesh.

The smith threw back his head and whined.

Glorfindel pulled his pants down further, exposing him to the cool night air. He was already fully erect.

Maeglin rolled his head back, struggling to breathe. “Please-” he moaned. “Make it stop.”

Something warm and wet engulfed him.

He looked down in surprise, startled to see Glorfindel’s lips stretched obscenely around his cock. Without speaking the golden lord seemed to know just what to do, what to touch and what to do with his throat.

Maeglin could only moan and clutch at the arms of the chair until he came, still deep in Glorfindel’s mouth.

But it hadn’t been enough. Maeglin let out a moan. “I’m going to die,” he whined.

“Don’t be absurd,” Glorfindel scolded. He placed his hand on Maeglin’s forehead and frowned. “You’re burning.”

Before Maeglin could say anything he was picked up and carried from the room. He hid his face, but fortunately, they didn’t pass anyone in the halls, and Glorfindel took him to a bathing chamber, laying him on the cool tile.

He pushed himself up weakly as Glorfindel started the water running. “Will you allow me to undress you?”

Maeglin stiffened. “Yes,” he said after a moment. Glorfindel helped him pull off his clothes, leaving him in just his underclothes before dunking him into the cool water.

He used a cup to pour the water over Maeglin’s head, trying to cool him as much as possible. “Don’t you ever take that drug again, Maeglin,” he said. “Or at least, not that dose.”

“I won’t,” Maeglin promised, leaning back.

“I mean it,” the Golden elf grumbled, soaking him again. “If it happens again, won’t help you.”

Maeglin just whined. “I never want to feel this ever again.”

Glorfindel said nothing, moving to gently stroke Maeglin’s penis, doing what he could to alleviate his arousal.

When the potion seemed to have finally worn off, Maeglin fell into an exhausted sleep in Glorfindel’s arms. He wrapped him in a blanket, then tucked him into a couch before going in search of Ecthelion.

As he’d expected, his lover was in the library.

“How is he?”

“Sleeping.”

“I meant in bed.”

“Don’t joke about that.”

Glorfindel returned to the room where he’d left Maeglin, not wanting to leave him alone in case he awoke and panicked in an unfamiliar setting.

“It would help,” Ecthelion said softly. “If I knew what you were hiding.”

“I gave him my word,” Glorfindel replied, sitting down and pouring them both a glass of wine.

Ecthelion sipped from his drink slowly. “Is he alright?”

“The potion has worn off.” Glorfindel glanced at Maeglin’s sleeping form. “But no, he’s not.”


End file.
